High Roll Blues

High Roll Strip is where I live. Colored by the flashy neon and shiny glasses, she hide the damp reality of her residents that keeps the money rolling pretty well.

On the outside, you’d only see the glamour clubs with half naked women dancing on the pole and the one willing to taking off more sitting on the sofa waiting to be called. But if you take a walk down to the alley in the corner, that’s where all those women kept. On the dirty room by the muddy wet road, that’s where they live, taking a shit and scratching rash after all-night hard fucks.

By “hard”, I don’t mean the good one. Sometimes they looked so disgusting, you’d want to fake your orgasm as soon as possible.

Yes, I’m one of those women.

Every night I sat on the sofa with my fellow kitten (that’s what they call our kind here) wearing red front-zipped one piece dress on top of our pushup bra and g-string. Easy to get in, easy to get out, that’s what needed every night when a lot of pigs (this one is my own code) coming.

I like sex, I really do. But this job show me what’s the worth of it. I want to open my partner’s clothes, throw it on the corner of the room while he push his face to my breast and bit the shirt before it’s even opened.

But what do I get? Bullshit. There’s unwritten ethics that we have to let the man open their clothes and either hang or fold it, while I get undressed too, take them to the bathroom and bathe them. Then I can take a bath on the see-thru shower while he lay on the bed staring and waiting for me to give him the blowjob and putting his rubber after he got hard.

I’m on top, missionary, doggie.

Moan, pretend to like it, pretend about to come, he come.

Done.

Fucking SOP on sex exist. Who would’ve thought? I didn’t.

Mama told all of us kitten never give more than that because they don’t pay us big enough. Pay HER big enough. I know how much they spend on an hour of sex (mostly less) and I obviously know how much I get from that.

You think the beuracracy is annoying as government worker? Try being a prostitute. We’re merely a meat to rent, and treated as one by everyone.

Like this regular pig. He used to come at least twice a month for years of being depressed single. Laughable, I know. He’s gone for awhile before he come back again. I don’t know what’s wrong with his newly gained girlfriend, my guess is she don’t follow our SOP.

Or that old pig. Thinking he’s rich for being able to test every kitten under this roof, but in fact we all know he just a pathetic man bored with his wife that keep fucking younger guy.

But then this man came.

His slender body and long black hair gave an impression of a snake. His eyes were sharp, staring at me like I was naked before I even open my dress.

“I know what you want,” he said. We both just about to enter the room, the bellboy wasn’t around and I just turn back and smile politely.

“What is it?”

“A fuck. Like you never get from all those puny pigs.”

I stare at those deep black eyes, asking non-verbal question through our stare. He only stare back and whisper:

“Don’t you?”

“Let’s see what you got, big boy,” I replied. I don’t know whether this is his kink or not, but there’s somthing threatening about this guy. The kind of threat that arouse me.

And sure it was.

He didn’t even let me lock the door, nor undress myself. He bit my neck once I close the door. And in seconds my dress was on the floor.

“This isn’t right,” I thought.

He spinned my body facing him and pushed me to the wall. His face was so close to mine, and he spoke in front of my lips. His breath was warm as summer breeze.

“You can rip my shirt if you want to,” he said.

“Do you want me to?”

“I want you to do as you please. I’ll pay you to use and abuse me.”

“Damn, this is totally right.”

I quickly kissed him, halfly bit his lips. My hand grab his collar and separate it left and right.

Buttons flying, there’s a loud zipping sound and now I’m able to see his fair skin and muscular chest. I stare at his face and hear him talking to my lips again with his deep voice:

“Be my guest, pussy cat.”

And sure I was.

—

“Do you know who I am?”

“I don’t care.”

“Do you know what I am?”

“No.”

“You’re sick, you know that?”

“Just a cough..”

“For months? It’s more than that.”

“Is that…”

“Yes.”

“How? I play safe.”

“Blowjob.”

“Fuck.”

“You’re not going to die…”

“Really?”

“…yet.”

“You’re a jerk, you know that?”

“You ain’t the first saying it.”

“Are you a doctor?”

“No.”

“How do you know I’m about to die?”

“Not going to die…”

“Just yet. Cut the crap, how?”

“I just know.”

Silence.

“I can give you more time, y’know.”

“How?”

“I got my own way.”

“Who ARE you?”

“Oh great, now you ask?”

“Just answer.”

“Later, when the time comes.”

Silence again.

“How long?”

“Up to you.”

“Ten years?”

“Your sex was good, but it wasn’t legendary.”

“Five?”

“It’s cool.”

“How do I know you keep your promise?”

“I pay for us tonight, you don’t lose anything. Just entertain the thought with no expectations. That’s what life is supposed to be.”

—

So here I am, standing naked in front of the mirror. That regular pig is here, sleeping on the bed to spend the rest of his time that’s still pretty long. He always come early and sleep the rest of it away. No pillow talk needed, I’m a hooker anyway. He’s married now, yet still coming back.

Typical.

I’ve learned to not complain about it anymore. I’m a meat fap machine, nothing more. These pigs only need t lay on their back an enjoy the ride while we work our ass –literally– off to please them.

He arrives, out of nowhere he emerge and stand behing me. Naked to the bone, only his long hair covers part of his chest and big black wings curving around his body.

“You’ve grown wings,” I turn around and smile a bit.

“I always have.”

“Time’s up?”

“Since five years ago.”

“What about him?” I nodded at the regular pig sleeping on the bed. Disgustingly naked.

“All your pigs will be taken soon,” he smile with his full lips. “Your fie years period giving me a lot of rescheduling, you know?”